On Beyond Z
by winter machine
Summary: "It's high time you were shown/That you really don't know/All there is to be known."  The story of the daughter Addison conceives with a little help from her friends, told from middle to beginning to end.  Alternate universe after last season's finale.
1. The Middle

**A/N: **Here be the brief introductory chapter. Give it a shot and in time, everything will be illuminated.

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><p><strong>On Beyond Z<strong>

"Is that him?" The little girl stretches to her full height - tall for her age, but still not tall enough to see over the railing. Sandy curls bounce on her shoulders as she tries to pull herself higher.

"Not yet, sweetie."

"When will it be him?"

"Any minute now. The plane's already landed. See, these people were all on the same flight."

"Is _that_ him?"

Addison laughs and holds out her arms. "Not quite. How about a lift so you can see better?"

Piper jumps eagerly and Addison catches her, lifting her to her hip. "How's that?" she inquires. Her daughter's bright blue eyes light up.

"Now I can see everyone!" she cries gleefully. "Except him."

"He'll be here any minute, Pipes. You keep an eye out."

Piper turns in her arms with the lightning-quick attention span that comes with the approach of her fourth year. "Can we go swimming? When he gets here?"

"Yes, you can swim this afternoon as long as it doesn't rain."

"I can swim in the rain."

"We'll see, you little mermaid," and she tickles her, making her squeal.

"There are too many people here," Piper sighs. "I can't see him."

"You'll see him. He'll be looking for you too." Surreptitiously she checks the time on her blackberry, angles her neck to scan the crowd. "Any minute now, sandpiper."

Piper winds an arm around Addison's neck as she studies the people filing through arrivals and Addison hoists her a little higher.

"I see him, I see him!" Piper wriggles in her arms and Addison sets her down, keeping a close eye on her bright head as she darts and weaves her way through the other waiting people.

"Daddy!"

"Piper! There's my little beach bunny," and he squats to catch her, then stands and lifts her over his head. "Look at you. You're huge."

Addison smiles slightly as she approaches. "It hasn't been long enough for noticeable growth and you know it."

Familiar lips leave a dry kiss on Addison's inclined cheek.

"Well, she's definitely bigger. I can tell. What do you say, Pipes, are you growing like a weed? Are you going to be as tall as your mom soon?"

Piper rests her hands companionably on either side of her father's face. "Yes. I am very, _very _big."

"Two against one, Addie. Sorry."

She rolls her eyes a little in response. "Not the first time."

He hefts Piper higher in her arms, turns to Addison. "You didn't have to come pick me up, you know."

"It was your daughter's idea."

"Well, that explains it." He kisses Piper's cheek, purposely tickling her with his stubble to make her laugh.

As they approach the car he frees a palm and holds it out to Addison. "I'll drive."

"My car? What is this, a caveman impulse?"

"You used to like those."

She flinches slightly.

"Addie, you fought the traffic all the way here," he says in a milder tone. "I'm just trying to do my part."

"That's why you're here."

"That's why I'm here," he repeats, still holding out his hand.

She fishes her keys out of her purse and drops them into his still-outstretched hand. "You need to take the 405 to-"

"Addison. I know where I'm going. And at this time of day you'll have an hour to backseat drive me."

They stand at the car for a moment until Addison reaches for Piper, breaking the silence. "Let's get you in your carseat, Pipes."

"Will you sit in the back with me, Mommy?"

"Yes," Addison says, another voice saying "No" at the same time.

"I'm sitting in the back," Addison says quietly, Piper on her hip, leaning away as much as she can in an attempt to keep the conversation adults only.

"You're sitting in the front. We need to talk."

"Now's not the time."

"When, then?"

"You just got here. We have plenty of time."

"Somehow, it never quite works out that way."

"I'm sitting in the back."

"Addison, when you wanted to-"

"I'm sitting in the back," she interrupts firmly. She eases open the back door and settles Piper in her carseat, buckling her in securely.

"Addison-"

"Will you swim with me, Daddy?" Piper chirps. "It is not raining."

"Of course I'll swim with you, buddy."

Piper bounces as much as her seat belt allows. "Mommy, we're going to swim!"

Addison strokes dark-blond bangs from her daughter's forehead. "Looks like it." She slides in next to Piper and buckles her own seatbelt. "We're all set."

"Addison..."

"Do you want to drive or don't you?"

He sighs and she inclines her chin slightly as he starts the ignition, trying to catch her eye in the rearview mirror. "Yes. I want to drive. I also want to talk."

"When you get to the right on Lincoln Boulevard-"

"Addison, I said I know where I'm going."

"Fine." She turns to her daughter, who is clutching a favorite Dr. Seuss book. "How about some music, sweetie?"

"Yes music!" Piper says enthusiastically.

"If you just turn on the stereo, there's-" but he's already doing it.

"It's not exactly punk," she apologizes. "But Piper likes it."

"I know that." He sounds tired, probably from traveling.

"Mommy!" Piper shoves her book closer to Addison. "Read to me?"

"Sure." Addison takes the book from her. "Where should I start?" she asks, well used to Piper's favored reading style.

"Ummm..." Piper tugs at the pages, crumpling them slightly, a look of concentration on her small face. "Here!"

"In the middle of the story?" she confirms with a smile.

"Yup!"

_Well, why not._

"'In the places I go there are things that I see that I never could spell if I stopped with the Z,'" she reads. "I'm telling you this 'cause you're one of my friends. My alphabet starts where your alphabet ends."

"You're going to get carsick if you read back there," a voice warns from the front seat.

Addison swallows hard as he veers toward the airport exit. "I'm fine," she says coolly.

"Obviously."

"Listen, Mark-"

Piper tugs at her sleeve. "Mommy, why did you stop?"

"Sorry, Pipes. Let's read." She draws a long breath, refocuses on the book. "'So on beyond Z! It's high time you were shown that you really don't know all there is to be known.'"

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><p><strong>AN: What? When? Who? What's happening? Next up: lots of answers to various questions, a (hopefully) interesting ride, and more opportunities for me to entertain myself (and hopefully you) over the impending hiatus... If you want to improve my day, tell me I'm not the only person who liked this (but only if it's true).**

**Title and excerpts from Dr. Seuss, _On Beyond Zebra! _(1955)**


	2. The Road

**A/N: So I've finally figured out how I want to handle this story. Apologies for the ridiculously long delay. You can now expect the following: much, much more frequent updates, short chapters, time jumps, various narrators, and some craziness. I'll specify the time at the top of each chapter, and I'll trust you guys to recognize the narrators, because you're awesome like that. So - please tell me you haven't all lost interest in this story since the first chapter?**

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><p><strong><em>The Road<em>**

_Present Day_

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><p><em>"...Then he almost fell flat on his face on the floor<br>__When I picked up the chalk and drew one letter more!  
><em>_A letter he never had dreamed of before!  
><em>_And I said, "You can stop, if you want, with the Z  
><em>_Because most people stop with the Z  
><em>_But not me!"_

He listens to the words of the book, sing-song and familiar, as well as Piper's enthusiastic contributions. She's got half her favorite books memorized - she calls it reading. If he can catch Addison in the right mood she lets her do it on skype. Truthfully, he likes listening to both their voices. They sound good together.

He rests one hand on the wheel as he drives, the other on the overcomplicated console. It's a minivan but the inside might as well be a space shuttle for all the controls. The freeway opens like a book, just enough traffic to keep his feet engaged and let his mind wander a bit. He looks out at the horizon and into the rearview mirror in turns. His daughter is gesturing excitedly over the book, little fingers pointing to words. Her giggle hits him right in the gut.

She's taller. Whatever Addison says, she's definitely taller this time.

The words start to come a little more slowly from the backseat. He sees the signs, maybe before she does - well, all right, he's looking in the rearview mirror more often than he needs to. It's because he's concerned - that's the better part of his nature. And okay, fine, he's a little annoyed too, and so he waits a minute or longer than he could have, then instantly regrets it when her color changes and she spears at the power windows with trembling fingers.

"Pull over," she gasps, but he's already doing it.

There's a service station yards away, safe to stop. Piper's watching from the tinted back windows; he gives her a little wave of reassurance and gets out of the car with Addison. She's bending over in a low line of scrubby shrubs; he reaches to pull back her hair - always a little surprised by how much shorter is is now - and she bats him away.

_She never listens to me._

He swallows the uncharitable thought and jams his hands in his pockets instead. She listened to him that one time. That's what she would say. And look where they ended up now.

Nothing like a little self-hatred and vomit on a sunny afternoon. It could be any Sunday in college. He rolls his eyes, massages the crick in his neck. He feels old on visits like these, sometimes. But then a blink and they're back in med school: smoothness instead of lines, idealism where they're bitter, five instead of - whatever they are now.

He pauses. Takes a step back. Which is worse: hesitation or instinct? He walks forward again and rests a hand on her back.

"You all right?"

"Fine." She stands, breathing heavily, and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. His own hand falls back to his side.

"Can I get you-"

"Water. There's water in the bag in the back."

And sure enough there's a perfectly organized bag, one of those big mommy-style totes. There's a bottle of water tucked neatly into a neoprene holder. He pulls it out - still cold. Addison takes long sips, leaning against the car.

"You shouldn't read in the backseat," he says finally.

_Great work, Sloan. Wait until you have something useful to say._

Sure enough, she gives him a very familiar look over the top of the water bottle. The evil-eye, his ungenerous side says. Well deserved, his generous side counters.

"Sit in the front." It comes out more gruffly than he intended.

"I don't want to talk, Mark."

"So we won't talk. Just sit. Come on, Addie."

He sees the exact moment she relents, in the slackening of her features and the expression in her eyes. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he couldn't read her. Or maybe if he didn't.

She leans into the backseat first, fiddles with something, murmuring reassurances to Piper. He turns around to his daughter's curious little face and gives her a wink. She grins back at him. He has to memorize her face on these trips and he thinks he's doing pretty well: a couple more freckles here, a bruised knee there. She has the same cowlick in her sandy hair that used to be the bane of his barbers and anyone trying to take his picture: it resisted hair products, aggressive spit-slicking from Derek's mother, and all the rest of the tricks. Then boom, one day he grew out of it. He looked for it, right where it used to be, and it was gone.

Music floats up from the backseat. Right. He'd forgotten she had some kind of DVD hookup in the car - she'd resisted it and then the shrink at her practice had bought one for them, swearing it saved her sanity in the car. Mark's spent enough time with that woman to question how much sanity was there in the first place, but there's no doubt her gift suggestion has come in handy. The music is vaguely familiar, probably one of those 70s-era reissues Addison's crazy about, with the muted colors and animals who are thankfully disinclined to speak.

Piper sings along with a long and her little pipsqueak voice tugs at him. He feels the magnetic draw of the videophone - he'll have to record her later. Send it back home. Her sister will want to hear it.

His little girls.

He has a picture of them, together, in his wallet - old-fashioned, like the picture of him he's pretty sure his own father never carried around. Now, like the 21st century dad he is, he keeps it in the prime spot on his phone, so he can sneak looks at it without people thinking he's going soft.

"Addison..."

She looks over at him. He can have the best of intentions and those eyes undo him anyway. He fishes a package of mints out of his pockets with one hand, keeps the wheel steady with the other. He'd forgotten he was carrying them.

"Here." He hands them over.

She regards him for another moment and then pops a mint into her mouth, sucking quietly. He tries not to think about her lips. In the backseat someone is singing about friendship or rainbows or something equally ridiculous. It's sunnier now - no sooner has he thought this than Addison slides a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses over her face. He glances in the back window and sees Piper's head lolling against the side of her carseat, thumb edging toward her mouth. For just a minute, he lets himself feel it.

Like a family.

"Turn left up here," Addison says, breaking the silence.

He glances automatically at his phone as he slides into park. Surreptitiously, he wheels up the picture of Piper and Sofia. His daughters, looking happy and sun-kissed, Sofia with two sprouting ponytails on her head and Piper brandishing a sand-smeared shovel. It's wildly out of date now. He wishes he'd taken more pictures then. If he'd known how quickly it would end, he thinks he would have taken reels of them. Reams.

But it's sarcasm that comes out of his mouth instead of sentimentality - not for the first time. Shutting off the ignition a little harder than he needs to, and with no attempt to control his tone, he turns to Addison: "What a surprise. Your husband's home."

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are like candy for the typing fingers.<em>**

****Title and excerpts from Dr. Seuss, _On Beyond Zebra!_ (1955)****


	3. The Answer

**A/N: So glad people are still reading this no-longer-abandoned story! Stay tuned, and please keep letting me know your thoughts. **

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><p><strong><em>The Answer<em>**

_Present Day_

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><p>"What a surprise." Mark turns off the ignition with slightly more force than necessary. "Your husband's home."<p>

She inhales sharply. "He's not my husband."

"Not yet."

"Mark." She's starting to feel suffocated in the sun-drenched car. She jabs at the seat belt, loosening the strap. "You know I haven't..."

"So you _do_ want to talk about it?" He turns to her.

"No." It's the last thing she wants to talk about. True to his word, Mark had let small talk fill the rest of the freeway ride, with plans to grill on the beach and sports taking up the silence. Now the fragile peace has apparently ended, and she thrusts the door open, needing air.

"Addison."

She's halfway out the door, one foot dangling to the pavement, but the weight of his tone keeps her rooted in her spot.

"What I think is really interesting, Addison, _really _interesting - " he says it quietly so Piper, still dozing in her carseat, doesn't even stir "-is how you'll make the same mistakes over and over with the same people."

"That's not fair."

"How's it going with him, anyway? Let me guess: passion starting to fade? He's not home so much? Not paying much attention when he is?"

"Enough, Mark."

"And here I am. How conveniently history repeats itself."

She takes a deep breath. For a second she considers slapping him - a physical sting to match the one she feels at his words. She pushes her sunglasses higher on her nose instead, keeps her tone tight and even: "Don't flatter yourself, Mark. You're here for Piper. That's it. Nothing else is up for debate."

She turns her back, slides the passenger door open and unloads her daughter from the car. Piper is a sleepy warm weight, falling heavily into her arms and pressing her flushed face into her neck. Addison stands by the car for a moment, rocking her gently as Piper slowly wakes.

She senses Mark hovering and glances at him. "She'll be up in a minute."

"I know. Take your time."

His tone is gentle, and she wishes he'd go back to snapping at her so her stomach would stop knotting up in hollow twists.

"Mommy," Piper mumbles into her shoulder, and she turns to her daughter, grateful for the distraction.

"Hey, sleepyhead." Addison kisses the top of her head, smoothing flyaway curls back from her face. "We're home."

Mark extends a tentative hand, and Addison nods when she sees he's waiting for her. He moves closer, rests a large palm on Piper's little back, and Addison marvels for a moment at the comparative sizes.

Piper blinks confusedly and turns her face toward him. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, Pipes."

She shifts in Addison's arms. "You came!"

"I sure did. You going to wake up for me so we can play?"

Piper frees one arm from around Addison's neck and reaches for Mark. He bends lower so she can drape it on him in a half hug and for a moment the three of them stand there, looped together. Addison breathes in the sweet smell of Piper's baby shampoo and watches, over Piper's head, as Mark reacquaints himself with the sight of her.

"I want to play!" It's Piper who breaks the chain, wriggling to get down from her parents' embrace, and Addison sets her on her feet with one last kiss on an impossibly soft, freckled cheek.

Awake now, Piper's ready for action and heads toward the beach. Addison and Mark follow her as she runs around the side of the house. Piper drops to her knees on the sun-warmed deck in front of her purple and silver scooter, and Mark catches Addison's arm.

She sees it in his eyes before he starts speaking: that one moment with Piper between them is over, and nothing has changed. His voice is harsh.

"Why is it," and she wants so badly to ignore the hurt that creeps into his angry whisper, "that _I'm_ the only one whose screwups you can't get past?"

"Mark-"

But he drops her arm before she can answer, nodding acknowledgement to someone over Addison's shoulder. "Hey," he says shortly, and Addison turns to see Sam walking towards them. "How've you been?"

Sam nods back, kissing Addison's cheek - she stands immobilized between the two.

"Doing well," he says. "Doing well. You paying Piper a visit?"

Addison studiously avoids Mark's eye.

"Have to keep up with her - she's already twice the size she was last time - right, Pipes?"

Piper looks up at the sound of her name and Mark scoops her up, swinging over his head and making her laugh. The low sun catches the sandy hair atop both their heads, turning it golden, and for a second Addison can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

"It hasn't been that long," Addison protests weakly and feels Sam give a mirthless sort of chuckle at her side.

She feeds the silence again: "Mark's going to grill," she begins but he interrupts.

"Look, why don't you two go out for dinner. I'll feed Piper here. I bet you don't get a chance to go out alone that often."

"Mark," she starts to protest. "You don't-"

Sam cuts her off, addressing Mark: "Thanks, man. That would be great."

"Great," Mark echoes, Piper balanced in his arms.

"Or we can all grill here, together," Addison offers weakly.

"Addison..." Sam nudges her gently.

"No, you should go." Mark smiles at her.

Right through her.

"The sandpiper and I will be just fine here on our own. Right?"

"Right!" Piper laughs when he throws her over his shoulder.

"Mark-"

Mark lifts an eyebrow at her. Sam watches her expectantly. Addison stands between the two of them.

_Why is it that I'm the only one whose screwups you can't get past?_

"Addison..." Sam's voice, prompting her. When she looks over he lifts an eyebrow.

Realizing she's beaten, she sighs her acceptance and steps around Mark to where Piper is hanging over his shoulder, still giggling.

"Hey, Pipes?" She touches her daughter's hair. "Mommy and Sam are going to go out for a bit while you and Daddy hang out here."

"Can we swim?"

"It's a little late for that, sweetie. Tomorrow morning you can swim."

"Is Daddy going to read to me?" Piper asks, lifting her head a little. Addison kisses her cheek.

"I'm sure he will if you ask him, but I'll be home before bedtime. Okay?"

She nods and Addison kisses her one more time, tucking a flyaway piece of sandy hair behind a small curved ear - a miniature version of Mark's own ear, inches above it.

"Call me if anything comes up. _Anything,_" she says as she sees Mark start to roll his eyes. "Mark-"

"Of course I will." He gives them both a grin that's more than halfway to smirk. "Have fun, you two crazy kids."

"If you need-"

They say her name in unison, two very different tones:

"Addison." Mark is already halfway down the deck with Piper in his arms.

"_Addison_." Sam's arm is resting meaningfully along her back. "Come on. Let's go."

With one more lingering glance at her daughter, she lets Sam tow her toward the side of the house, to the car.

"Bye, Piper!" she calls before her bright little head is out of sight and Piper turns around in Mark's arms to give her a wave. Sam tugs her gently toward the car.

"Addison, if you make a big deal out of leaving then she will too."

She presses her lips together. "I know that."

"When Maya was..."

She closes her eyes, letting his reminisces rumble over her without really hearing it. For someone who didn't want an active role in parenting her child, he is always free with advice on how she should do it, and she lets most of it brush past her without engaging.

"Addison?"

"Yeah. Thanks, I got it."

"I was asking where you want to go for dinner."

At her confused look he loosens a hand from the steering wheel to pat her thigh. "The place by the water?" he suggests. "Or the other place?"

"Either," she shrugs, feeling guilty at the expression that crosses his face. Mark was right - they rarely get a chance to go out alone, just the two of them, so why can't she take advantage of it?

"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "It's just - maybe I should call, see how they're doing - "

"Addison, it's barely five minutes since we left. She's been alone with Cooper longer than that."

"But that's Cooper."

"And this is Mark."

She fiddles with her phone.

"Addison, come on. I'd like to have a nice dinner with you..." his voice trails off and she lets guilt pool in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just-"

"It's okay. But, Addison, how is he supposed to have an independent relationship with her if you're always with them?" His tone is gently prodding and she's embarrassed when the keypad on her phone blurs beneath her fingers.

She doesn't answer him, of course.

Because the answer is that it wasn't _supposed_ to turn out this way. None of it.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated.<em>**


	4. The Offer

**A/N: This story is structured differently from other things I've posted - particularly the short chapters. That's not going to change, but they will be coming with more frequency. I'm aiming for an update a day, but please keep me on track and motivated - and let me know your thoughts! **

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><p><strong>The Offer<strong>

_Five Years Ago_

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><p>It's one of those ideas that comes out of his mouth before he's thought about it, but once it's out - he knows it's right.<p>

It happens fast. It happens without planning. It happens when she says the word _baby._

Addison and babies go together. Always have. She cooed over them in the park, cradled them in the NICU, sweated and studied and sutured and sliced until she could work miracles over their tiny bodies. She wore the salmon-pink scrubs that marked her as a baby doctor-

_Stop calling me that, Mark!_

-and she took her work with her when she left the hospital, crowing over increased fetal weight or successfully separated blood vessels in an all-night diner, crying in a taxi about a dying infant, hunching silent and frozen on the steps when a preemie slipped through her fingers. They weren't just patients, she would explain to him. They were _babies._

And a baby is why she's here at all.

His baby. Safe in the isolette, alive thanks to her.

She's given him a baby.

Not the first one - she's grown up and lost to him. Nor yet the second - lost to him another way. But the third.

Third time's lucky, and his daughter is alive and breathing now under the best of medical care.

_The best_ means her, of course.

She flew to Seattle, saved his child and her mother, stood there in the hospital surrounded by the people who'd moved on without her. She was fearless and fearsome all at once, commanding the operating room.

In the OR, she's a towering force, in street clothes, an intimidating amazon. But in the middle times - after surgery and before the locker room - she seems strangely small, her rubber clogs leaving her half a head shorter than he, the sweat-dampened fabric clinging to the narrow lines of her body. She looks exhausted, somehow both the same and completely different from the way she looked the day he met her.

The first time he saw her she was squinting over a cadaver, long hair pulled into a ponytail, serious face behind plastic goggles. He watched her expression change and realized she must have figured out something in that moment. He never found out what it was, if it was medical or final Jeopardy from the night before or something from last Sunday's crossword. But her face suddenly lit up, her teeth closing over her lip in private delight. He thought about saying _hey, you're beautiful._ For about three seconds. And then he turned back to his work.

That was how it was with him when it came to women - no real urgency. There was always be more time. There would always be another chance.

Could three seconds have changed his life?

_Change _is apparently what she's thinking about too. He'd asked her what she's been up to and that was what she said:

_I need a change._

"Tell me," he says now, leaning forward, and the words start tumbling out. He gets the sense, as he has before, that she doesn't have enough outlets to talk in Los Angeles. He's always liked listening to her talk; always been surprised at the thought that others don't.

_You listen to me more than my husband does,_ she said once, ruefully. _Then he doesn't know what he's missing, _he replied.

Words flow slowly into the shape of her desire: to have a baby.

It takes some boldness to say this to him, the father of the child he'd hoped she would keep, and he respects her for it. There was a time he might have reacted differently. It hurt, when it happened. It hurts to remember. But now he's mourned the loss, accepted responsibility and moved on. So he just listens.

But she interrupts herself, eyes wide and a bottomless blue - he doesn't think he's wrong that they're bluest in Seattle - "I know I probably shouldn't say this to you, I'm sorry, I just -"

"No, it's okay. Go on."

So she does. She explains that in a relationship of two people, only one of them wants a child.

"I want a baby," she explains. "And he wants time."

"Time for what?"

"To see if he wants a baby. To be - ready, I guess."

"Ready?" He snorts before he can help himself. "They had a baby when they'd barely started residency. They were ready then?"

"No, but..." she trails off. "Ready with me, I guess. Or, you know, ready to do it again."

"But you're ready now."

She nods, looking down at her hands where they're clenched in her lap. He studies her fingers, strong and slim. They're capable of so much: Healing. Bringing life into the world. Pleasure.

Pain.

Someone told him once that women offer an ear where men offer advice. As for him, what he has is a question: "So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." She pulls her lower lip between her teeth for a moment and the gesture is so painfully familiar that he has to look away.

Finally he can't take it anymore. "Addison-"

"Do you ever think about h - about New York?"

She doesn't have to explain further. He meets her eyes. Any answer is going to hurt, so he picks the truth. She deserves the truth. "Yeah," he says simply. "I do."

She nods, looking away again. "I do too."

"Addison-"

"I think - that may have been my one chance to have a baby."

The crack in her voice is his undoing. He wants her to be happy.

It sounds simple, but it's as complicated as the network of tendons in her hands, still clenched hard around the hem of her scrub top. He studies the way they move. The color looks good on her - what would she call it? Teal? He still remembers the pink in New York. Salmon, whatever it's called. That orangey-pink all the baby doctors wore. You'd think that color wouldn't suit a redhead, but it did.

Not that there was any color that didn't suit her. In scrubs, in couture, in a towel or nothing at all. He sees all of her when he looks: not _right now_, not _this room. _He thinks this must be his reward and his punishment at the same time. It is his history - their history. He can't look at her and see this moment, this conversation, by itself. He sees the days and the months that built the years that brought them here.

So yes, he thinks about New York.

He wants her to be happy.

As fatal flaws go, it sounds deceptively altruistic. But it was enough to end a marriage. To keep him from chasing her to JFK as he'd really wanted. Enough to spawn a lie that drove her from Seattle. And it's enough for this, the words slipping from his mouth with unexpected urgency:

"Addison. Let me help."

She looks up at him. "I have a boyfriend, Mark. Or - I think I still do," she mumbles.

"I'm not trying to get you into bed" - although he allows himself a moment to remember the feel of her, sense memory overwhelming him for one glorious instant. They were good together. Always. Whatever else was going on, their physical connection was always there. In New York, her hands constrained by Derek's rings. In Seattle, even under the weight of her guilt. In California, where he'd let another chance slip through his fingers like water.

Back in the present, he leans forward, elbows on his knees as if he's describing a surgery. The thing is, he gets it. He knows what he's offering. And he wants to do it. He doesn't stop to think because he doesn't have to ask himself why it feels right. He gets it. They're mired in the past, revolving slowly in the present, every moment between them weighted by all the ones before. They're not together; they've had their chances. But this is a chance for something else.

This is it. This is the future. This is his idea.

Her brow furrows. "What _are_ you saying, then?"

He sketches it out, watches the light in her eyes change as he outlines his plan.

"No, Mark, it's too much. I - couldn't."

"Come on," he said. "Let me do this for you."

"Mark..."

"You deserve to be happy, Addison. You deserve to get what you want."

She looks up at him, looks right at him, her expression naked but unidentifiable.

"Just think about it," he coaxes, and she agrees that she will.

Later he will realize that the expression in her eyes was nothing more or less than pure surprise, and he will wonder why no one else was saying those words to her. Like her boyfriend.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are warmly welcomed and always appreciated.<em>**


	5. The Beginning

**A/N: Not quite daily, but close. Stay tuned.**

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><p><strong>The Beginning<strong>

_Five Years Ago_

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><p>She flies back to Los Angeles with his words ringing in her ears.<p>

_Let me do this for you. You deserve to be happy._

But she's learned hard lessons about moving on before she's ready, so she's going to determine where her relationship stands with Sam first. He deserves another chance. He's a good man - he at least deserves that.

They catch each other on the beach, on his way back and her way out for a run. Another minute and they would have just missed each other; but she's already waited too long. She can't wait any longer - not to have a child. Not for her future. So she stands her ground in the sand, the setting sun turning the ocean a greenish-grey.

"Are we breaking up?" he asks when she's done, and she lets his words slide into the horizon like the sinking ball of orange.

He slides out of her bed - her life - just as easily.

She knows she should feel definitive. She should feel empowered. She's ready. And yet - she misses him. She misses the warmth of him in her bed, his handsome face and easy smile.

Days slide into weeks. _I need a change,_ she confesses on the stiffly unfamiliar therapist's couch. _When is my life going to change? _

Then it's the therapist's words that ring in her ears: _When you make a change._

She says only three words when she calls him: "I miss you."

His arms are comfortable. Comforting. As are his familiar lips and hands and the feel of him atop her. Alongside her. He lies sated on the side of the bed she left empty during his absence and she curls her body against his.

She rests her head against his chest, letting his gradually slowing heart soothe her. His hands smooth down her hair, making the same motions she's made so many times. She's made mistakes and he's accepted them. He's accepted her.

"I missed you," she whispers. It's past tense now.

His voice is solemn. "I missed you too."

She inhales and begins, carefully, the speech she's planned: "I'm still going to want a baby, Sam. Not with you, I know how you feel. I don't know, I'll adopt or get a sperm donor, I don't know. I'm going to have a baby. On my own. But having you and having a baby aren't mutually exclusive."

"More change?" He sounds rueful.

She doesn't answer his question: "You'd have to love me _with_ my baby. Or at least, just love me for right now. Can you do that?"

She holds her breath, doesn't dare hope. _A donor. Just love me for right now. Can you do that?_

She can't see his face when he responds: "I can try."

Maybe change starts with trying, because she dials Mark the next morning. She doesn't put the call through, but she dials the number, looks at it on her screen. It's a start. The start of a change, maybe.

She thinks of Sam's words, when she told him about what she almost did.

_We can get past it. This time. But you have to be straight with me. For this relationship to work, you need to be honest. You need to be an active participant._

She waits three days, and then opens the subject while they clear the remains of dinner: pasta (his contribution) and wine (hers).

"Already?" he asks.

His tone is cool; she studies his expression. "I said I was ready, Sam. That I need to start."

"Are we going to talk about this?"

"That's... what we're doing."

He turns his back, loads plates into the dishwasher. For a few minutes he's silent, the steady stream of water the only sound in the room.

Tentatively, she begins again.

At the word _Mark _he freezes. "Wait a minute."

She's ready. She takes a deep breath. "Sam, we've done dozens of non-partner known donor fertilizations at Oceanside."

He shakes his head. "This is different."

"How is it different?"

"It is _different_, Addison, because of your history."

"My - what?"

"What are you doing? What is this going to accomplish?"

"What's it going to _accomplish_? I want a baby, Sam."

"Yes. You've made that very clear."

"I said I was going to look into getting a sperm donor-"

"A sperm donor. A _sperm donor_ doesn't mean - wait a minute. Is this what you were thinking, when you said that? About him?"

She lowers her eyes, and her hesitation is apparently all he needs.

"I can't believe this."

"Sam, wait."

"This is something you've already discussed with him? Before me? And you didn't bother to tell me about it?"

"I'm telling you now."

He just shakes his head again. "Addison, I thought you were going to be _in _this relationship this time. That you were going to be honest."

"I am in it. And I am telling you that I want to do this because - because I _am _being honest. We talked about this. You know about my - family. And I know that you don't want a child. So this is a chance for my baby to have the option of knowing its father. Of having some family, in case I - well, just in case. That's better for me. That's better for the baby. _This_ is honesty, Sam."

"Doesn't look like it from here."

"What does it look like?"

"What does it look like?" He does that mirthless chuckle again. "It looks like wandering a little too close to danger."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We've talked about this. Being in a relationship means not hiding things, or running away, or -" he stops.

"Or what?"

"You know what."

"Please don't say cheating." She pushes her hair behind her ears, frustrated.

"Addison, you considered flying to the tropics with a complete stranger. Not to mention that you _kissed _him-"

"You kissed Naomi!"

"Stop." He puts up a hand. "That's not comparable and you know it. Now, this conversation isn't going anywhere."

She takes a welcome swallow of wine, lets it warm her throat. "I think we need to have it anyway."

"Not tonight." He closes the dishwasher with a firm click. "I'm going to sleep at my place."

"Sam." She trails him to the door. "I thought we were supposed to talk about everything. Honesty and all of those things. What happened to that?"

"This conversation is over." He kisses her and leaves, closing the sliding door behind him. She stands in her living room looking out at the darkness and wondering what just happened.

She doesn't raise it at work the next day. She considers it, but his eyes warn her against the thought. Somehow they're back in limbo, but he appears on her deck the next evening as she's sitting alone at the table, pouring a glass of wine.

"You're going to have to give that up if you're serious about getting pregnant."

As peace offerings go, it could use some work. "I haven't started trying yet."

"But you're going to. With Mark Sloan's ... _donation_." He pronounces the word like it tastes unpleasant.

"That's what it is. A donation. That's all it is."

"Right." He laughs without humor, pulls out the chair opposite her and sits down. "Because you've done such a good job drawing lines with him in the past."

"That's not fair."

"All I know, Addison, is my diabetic uncle does a hell of a lot better when there are no cookies in the house. And I'm not going to keep my mouth shut if he says he wants to open up a bakery."

"I don't-" She stops, lost in the confusion of the metaphor. "What?"

He fixes her with a stern gaze. "Temptation."

"It's not temptation. It's a _donation_. That's all it is. Sam, you know you were my first choice, but you didn't want a baby."

"So this is my punishment?" He stands up and walks a few steps away, closer to the water.

"_No._ This is what I need to do for me."

"What's wrong with adoption?"

"Nothing is _wrong _with it. I'd be thrilled to adopt, I just want to give this a try first. Just one more try. I know it's a long shot. I know how few eggs I have left, but I have access to the best fertility doctors and I want to try. I _need _to try."

When he doesn't answer, she gets up too, sets her wineglass down and crosses the space between them.

"And I need you, Sam. I need you _and _a baby." She links her arms around his neck. "Please just give me a chance to make this work. I really think it can work."

He looks past her, over her shoulder.

"Sam."

"What are you saying, Addison?"

"I'm doing this," she says bravely. "And you said you could try to love me anyway, Sam. Remember?"

He looks down.

She slides her hands around to his impassive face, draws it closer to hers. She presses her lips against his, insistent, until they part with more resignation than welcome. "Please," she murmurs, pulling back. "Sam."

He touches the back of his hand to his lips. "Yeah, okay. I guess we can ... just take it one step at a time."

"Thank you." She wraps her arms around him, holding on tightly until his familiar arms circle her waist. "I know this is going to be complicated. But I'm with _you. _I want to be with you. And I promise I won't give you another reason not to trust me."

He kisses her temple and releases her. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Addison."

The next morning, when she dials his number, she presses _send._

He answers after two rings. "How's sunny California?"

"Sunny," she smiles. "How's Sofia?"

"Bigger, stronger - perfect. Thanks to you."

She flushes. "The NICU up there gets some credit, I think."

"They've got nothing on you."

"Mark, I-" she breaks off. Hears his voice in her head like it was yesterday:

_Why is it so hard for you to ask for what you want? Damn it, Addison, just ask! _

She takes a deep breath. "If that offer's still open, I want to take you up on it."

His answering indrawn breath is audible on the other end of the phone. "It's definitely still open."

"Great." She nods, even though he can't see her.

"So you worked everything out, then. With-"

"Yeah." She interrupts before he can say Sam's name, though she's not sure why. "He's - well, we're going to take it one step at a time."

He's silent on the other end of the line.

"We should probably talk some - work out the details," Addison says finally.

"Yeah. We should."

"But before we do that, I just want to -" she breaks off.

"What is it, Addison?"

"I just want to say thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," he says gruffly.

"Mark, this is - you have to let me thank you."

"I'll try to think of some way for you to make it up to me." His joking tone is so familiar that she feels a sharp twinge.

"We're not doing this the old-fashioned way, you know," she prods gently, trying to lighten her own mood.

"Then I'll think of another way." He pauses. "Seriously, Addison, I want to do this for you. So, you can thank me, right now, but then you have to stop and just - I want to do it, okay?"

For a brief second the thought crosses her mind: _why _does he want to do this? But she doesn't ask him. She accepts it all: the offer, and the man offering it.

"Okay," she says slowly. "Well, thank you. Last time," she laughs hurriedly. "I promise, no more thanking. We're done."

Except that they're just beginning.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are warmly welcomed and always appreciated. So there you have it - the beginning! But there's a lot to come between the beginning and the middle (and between the middle and the end).<em>**


	6. The DoOver

**A/N - **It's back. Stay tuned.

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><p><strong>The Do-Over<strong>

_Two Years Ago_

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><p>"Here she is!" Derek grins at both of them.<p>

She enters the hospital like she owns it and Mark can't hide a proud smile at both of his girls. It's only been three days but he drinks in the sight of her, thirsty for what he's missed. She kisses him and he catches her around the waist when she starts to pull back, leans in for a longer kiss. Piper twirls around his legs and he draws back, scooping her up.

"Did you fly all the way here to see me?"

"Airplane," she declares confidently. There's a pair of silver wings clipped to her little jacket - he hadn't realized airlines were still doing that - and he admires them as she grins and claps her hands.

Addison is greeting Derek now; Mark watches him kiss her cheek with what passes for genuine affection and she smiles at him. "Your hair is different. It's shorter."

"Fatherhood," he shrugs.

"Zola likes to play beauty salon," Meredith explains. "It was-" Derek is glaring at her. "Come on, it's funny."

"It suits you," Addison settles the debate and reaches for Piper, who latches in her arms, one hand toying with the gold chain around her mother's neck. "Not that I'm not flattered by the welcoming committee, but-" she glances at Mark. "Actually, if you can watch Piper for a little while, I can check on my patient."

Callie catches up to them. "Addie! What did we have to do to get you back?"

"A particularly stubborn fetal tumor." She hugs Callie, mindful of Piper between them.

"Better than the ones in LA?"

"I've always said this was a first class hospital," Derek reminds them.

"You would know, Chief."

They walk with Addison trailing them toward the elevators; Derek falls into step with him. "How's Amy doing?"

"She's okay." Mark glances behind him automatically. Addison is wearing Piper on her hip and deep in conversation with Callie, laughter punctuating the words. "Have you, um, have you spoken with her?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, when you called I - well, I sent an email." The hint of defensiveness in his tone is so familiar.

"You hear anything back?" He keeps his tone casual.

"No." Derek frowns. "Do I need to-"

"Daddy!"

Mark turns around. Piper is reaching for him.

"She wants to ride on your shoulders." Addison smiles apologetically. "Sorry, did you two want to talk, or-"

"We were all finished." Mark swings Piper into his arms, then hoists her onto his shoulders. She squeals excitedly and fists her small hands in his hair. It hurts but he relishes it, loves hearing her giggles just above his ears.

Derek cocks his head. "Now you're going to go prematurely bald."

"Just because _you _have to depend on your hair to attract women..." he lets it linger, affectionately, and to his satisfaction both Meredith and Addison stifle smiles.

"I'll be an hour," Addison promises. "Maybe less." He and Piper collect their kisses and watch her until the elevator doors close.

"You know, every time she comes back, I kind of think she belongs here."

The musing is so on point he thinks he must have spoken without realizing it when he comprehends that it was Callie. She's smiling at the closed elevator door, still smiling nearly two hours later when they collect assorted children - Arizona handing off Sofia from day care and Meredith popping back with Zola in her arms. They stand in the lobby together, a motley crew. "So," Callie grins. "We're really doing this."

"God, when was the last time we all had time off at once?"

"Ages ago," Addison sighs as Derek says "Med school?"

Three carseats in three cars. Five parents (Arizona having promised she'll meet up with them for dinner) and three little girls. It's sunny and crisp at the playground with just enough chill in the air to remind him he's still in Seattle. They file across the grass, diaper bags of various size slung across multiple shoulders, and Derek finally breaks the silence, looking from one loaded-down parent to another.

"Remember when we used to go to bars?"

Addison laughs ruefully.

"You know, if you think about it, playgrounds _are_ a lot like bars." Callie points with Sofia's bright-green shovel. "Look, you've got the pickup artists by the sandbox, trolling on the other kids' toys. They sit over there," she nods at the picnic tables, "to get all sugared up on juice boxes and then they stumble around and make fools of themselves."

Meredith laughs. "Should I be exposing my child to this?"

"Definitely." Derek kisses her cheek. "Look how well her mother's bar habit turned out."

Meredith swats him with Zola's folded sunhat.

They fan out on the benches. Mark moves between his daughters, Addison smoothing sunscreen onto a squirming Piper's round cheeks. As soon as she's released she toddles after Sofia, fascinated by the older girl. Sofia, all sweetness and her mother's dark eyes, takes her little sister by the hand and shows her the bucket swings.

Addison leans her head against him then, just for a moment, and he kisses her fragrant hair. He's torn between the Rockwell perfection of this sunny park afternoon and the things he can't wait to do to her in the king-sized bed back in what used to be his bachelor pad. He settles for sliding a hand into the familiar space between waist and hip, as warm and firm as he remembers, and pulling her close. His fingers drift toward her pockets and she pushes him away, smiling. "Mark..."

"Sorry," he mumbles into her neck and she laughs.

"I want it too," she whispers. "Believe me. It's just - a few hours until bedtime."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe a few more than few. Be patient."

He kisses her one more time and releases her. "I'll try."

She heads for the swings - a swing in her own step that he knows she's doing just to torture him, with the intended effect.

"Is it just me or does she get more gorgeous every year?"

He turns to see Callie next to him in a pair of oversized sunglasses.

"Are you supposed to talk like that?"

She smirks. "I'm married, Mark, not blind."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he watches Addison pushing Piper on the swing. It's hard to tell who's having more fun; the sun is lighting both their faces and Piper's giggles carry across the spring-scented air. Addison's hair is moving in the gentle breeze; every few pushes she leans in to say something to her daughter and they both laugh. The similarities, from this distance, are remarkable: her coloring is a combination of both of them, and her features, but the smallest mannerisms are uncanny. His daughter's little hands, long fingers already, stir the air with Addison's familiar gestures. The wrinkling of a button nose, the flex of an arched eyebrow. Addison catches his eye, sees him looking and taps her watch with her other hand, mouthing _bedtime._ He smiles, looking away.

"Daddy!"

Sofia is running toward him then, legs pumping in striped tights, wearing those little sneaker-mary-jane things she insists on.

"What's going on, Sofe?" She jumps into his arms and he holds her close, dropping a kiss between her pigtails. Having the two of them together, here, feels almost like a dream. He's no idiot though and he's trying to be sensitive. Sofia asks frequently about Piper between visits, takes pictures of the two of them to Show and Tell and seems to enjoy having a little sister. Still, this new routine is a change for everyone.

"I want pizza for dinner. Can we?"

He glances at Callie, who rolls her eyes. "What did your moms say?"

Sofia shrugs. Her pigtails tickle his nose and he gives her another kiss. "Why don't we see how we feel when you're done playing. _Are _you done?"

"No!" She's indignant now, wriggling to get down. "You didn't see me on the big-kid slide..."

"I'm watching," he promises her, and it's true. He can watch both of them at the same time here, on the same playground. He can spread his arms here and touch almost everyone he loves.

Almost.

Callie is watching him. He can't see her eyes behind her sunglasses. "They're cute together," he says finally, though it doesn't sound like enough.

She laughs. "That's an understatement."

"I wish we could stay." There, he says it.

"Can you?"

He nods toward Addison. "Her practice is there. And the house, and - you know, Piper really loves the beach."

"You don't like the system?" He can't see Callie's expression behind her sunglasses.

"The system is great." He flies back and forth every two weeks, sometimes every three, anxious not to shortchange either daughter. Everyone wins this way: his LA family. His Seattle family. His frequent flier miles and the credit card company and the airlines.

They're both quiet for a while, watching the kids playing. As Sofia mounts the stairs of the curving slide for what must have been the twentieth time, he dares to try.

"Would you ever consider-" he breaks off, unable to finish.

"Mark, our lives are here."

"Yeah." He looks at his feet for a moment. "Yeah, I know, that wasn't fair. I'm sorry, Cal."

"Don't be." She shrugs. "The modern family, Mark. We can live in two states. Honestly, that's not even the weirdest thing we do, is it?"

It's a fair point. "You're right. Being here with all of us is just-"

"I know," she says now.

He thinks about the fireflies Piper likes to chase in the evenings, clapping her small hands around what inevitable turns out to be empty air. That urge to seize on this moment, this feeling is so strong. His best friends. All of their children. In more than forty years he'd never imagined things could turn out like this.

She's watching him.

"I feel lucky," he says finally, simply, because it's true.

"You are. God, Mark, it's like you got a do-over or something."

"Yeah?" He crinkles his brow slightly at the wording.

"No, it's great, it's perfect," Callie gushes. She grins at him, white teeth flashing in the sun. "It's _so_ great, Mark, with her and you and Piper - it's like, almost too good to be true."

She's right.

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><p><em>Reviews are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated. Remember that this is a story out of order, told from middle to ... something. I'd love to hear your thoughts. <em>


	7. The Threat

**A/N** - Aiming for frequent updates again. Thank you to everyone who's still reading!

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><p><strong>The Threat<strong>

_Present Day_

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><p>"Am I supposed to like having him in the house?"<p>

She lowers her voice, casting an anxious glance at their closed bedroom door. "No, of course not, Sam, but-"

He shakes his head, a sarcastic smile flashing white. "You always want to have your cake and eat it too."

"What?"

"You got what you asked for, Addison. You still want me to roll out the welcome mat when he comes down here? Forget it."

"Okay." She pulls out her drawer, heart pounding, rifles through her night clothes looking for something that might soothe him.

"Or have you already forgotten what he-"

She cuts him off, not sure she can bear for it to continue. "Sam, please."

"Addison." He changes his tone, cajoling instead of mocking, and puts his arms around her. "It's okay." She slumps into the solid wall of his chest and lets him hold her, one big hand drawing soothing circles on her back.

"I don't want you to be mad at me," she admits, her voice smaller than she'd like. He kisses the side of her head.

"Hasn't anyone told you that you can't have everything you want?"

She doesn't answer.

"Here's here for Piper, Addison, isn't that what you say?"

At his sharp tone she pulls back. "Yes, of course."

"Then maybe you should let him be with her and focus on us instead."

She sighs, watching him strip to boxer briefs, his movements swift and deliberate. He lowers himself onto the bed, giving her a tantalizing look at the muscles of his chest and she wants nothing more than for the night to be over. Finally selecting a pair of silk shorts she knows he likes and pulling a loose tank top over her head, she flicks the wall switch and casts the room into darkness.

"You know he's not a threat." Addison ducks into bed, lowers her head against his neck, eager to give and get distraction in return. "Sam..."

He rolls away from her.

"Sam, come on." She puts a tentative arm around him, his skin warm under hers. "I don't want to fight, can we just-"

He turns over swiftly then, tangles one hand in her hair and slips the other inside the waistband of her shorts.

"Sam, wait." She pushes at his hand. "Stop. Can we talk about this?"

"Nothing to talk about." His fingers twist and she gasps, pulling away and grabbing at his wrist.

"Sam..."

"You say he's not a threat, fine. He's not a threat."

"Right, but then why-"

"_What,_ Addison?" His hand is halfway outside her shorts now, her fingers gripping but not quite meeting the circumference of his wrist. His gaze is intense in the low light. "What?"

"Nothing." She unfolds her fingers from his wrist. His hand disappears again, skimming under the waistband of her loose silk shorts. His fingers are hot enough to burn her skin.

She lies very still, eyes on the door. They're careful. They're always careful.

"You're quiet." He kisses her neck, uses his teeth a little more than she likes and she flinches. "What is it, Addison?"

"Nothing, it's fine."

"It's not fine." He withdraws his hand again. "It's him."

"No." She starts to sit up and his hand on her thigh stops her.

"_Yes. _It is him."

"Sam..."

"What is it, Addison, you think he's going to hear?"

"No, I - what if Piper-"

"If Piper needs something, _he _can deal with it. Isn't that why he's here?"

"Yes, but-"

"Yes but _what_?"

"Nothing." She says the word again, and again, until it loses its meaning: "Nothing, nothing, nothing."

"Good." He moves his hand up her thigh, cupping her firmly before yanking the loose silk shorts to her knees. She presses her fingers to her lips to muffle the sounds she can't keep inside but he seizes her wrist and drags it away from her face. With her hands pinned at her sides to the sheets and his mouth gliding across her thigh she can't stop herself. She moans, then presses her lips together as firmly as she can. His tongue probes her and she gasps, struggling to stay silent, muscles vibrating with tension.

There's a moment of sweet relief when the pressure of his mouth disappears and then he pushes into her before she's quite ready. She grabs at his shoulders, willing her body to calm. "Relax," he mutters into her hair. "Addison, relax."

She tries.

"Sam, it - slow down," she pants as he moves over her and he ignores her, his pace quickening until she can't be quiet any longer. She turns her head to the side, back and forth frantically. There'll be a snarl at the back of her hair when this is over.

_When this is over._

"Sam!"

She tugs at her pinioned arms and he pulls them further up, over her head, flattens her arms with his. His pace shows no sign of slowing and she wraps her legs around his, trying to get some control of their rhythm. He suctions onto her neck again and she winces. There will be marks tomorrow. It will be no accident.

He thrusts both her wrists into one fist then, presses the other hand to the barely-there space between their slick bodies. She's slippery and feels like she's falling, he's determined and feels like he's not letting go. His fingers bump and slide over sensitive ridges and he swallows her protests with a kiss that goes on and on. His tongue is keeping her from screaming. He pulls away and leaves a damp trail down her neck.

She's frozen, silent, and he prods her, bumping his nose against hers, muttering into her mouth, his fingers flying faster, pushing harder. She stops watching the door, screws her eyes shut tightly.

"Let go, Addison." He whispers it wetly into her neck this time and she turns her head away, only to find his mouth at her other ear. "Come on. Let go, baby. I want to hear you. Stop holding it in."

She's tense, hips over-flexed and arms overstretched and she can't find her voice; inside her head she's calling his name as harshly as she can, not even sure what she's asking for now: _More. Softer. Harder. Less. Stop. Keep going. Sam._

"God!"

There it is. Her voice.

They jump apart as the door swings wide open, Addison yanking the sheet over her breasts, Sam clapping a pillow to his lap.

"Sorry to interrupt."

Mark, bare chested and smirking, shorts riding low on his hips. "Where did you say the towels were?"

Addison turns away from Sam's muttering beside her. "Hall closet. Second from the left. Middle shelf."

"But you knew that already." Sam's voice, angry silk. "Didn't you."

"Good night, guys," Mark says smoothly, half-turning. "Piper's down the hall, you know, so you might want to keep it down."

Addison grabs for Sam as he makes a move to get up. "Shut the door, Mark!"

He does so, but she swears he winks at her first. _Goddamn it._

"Sam..."

But it's too late, he's already turned his back to her again, his rigid shoulders the only answer she needs. She slides under the covers, rooting as discreetly as she can in the crumpled sheets for her discarded shirt. Locating it at last, she drags it over her head with trembling hands. Finally she draws her knees to her chest, an acrobatic fetal position, and pulls on her shorts. Covered at last, she feels oddly naked.

She lies on her back, still feeling the sting of him within her, and listens to the sounds of Mark getting ready for bed in the guest bathroom. He splashes with what sounds like extra vigor, turning the taps on and off, audibly shaking out his towel.

She wakes up alone, sunlight streaming across the white covers. There's a sulky dent in the mattress announcing Sam's exit, steam escaping under the door of the en-suite. She shrugs into a silk robe and heads for the stairs, pausing outside Piper's open door.

Her daughter is standing half in and half out of her closet in a posture that's adult enough to make her smile. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

"I'm getting dressed," Piper turns around, still in pink-striped pajamas. "Daddy is making me eggs."

"Do you need help?"

"I can do it," Piper asserts brightly, one of her favorite phrases, little hands tugging at a hanger.

Addison blows her a kiss and heads for the kitchen. Sure enough, Mark is moving around her kitchen like he owns it, sunlight dappling his shoulders.

"Good morning," his tone is irritatingly cheerful. "Coffee?"

She takes the mug from him without a word.

"Just the way you like it. Hot and strong."

She ignores him.

"Nothing like coffee and a sea view to - hey," he interrupts himself to whistle, nudges the red marks at her neck and she bats his hands away.

"Cut it out, Mark."

"What are you, sixteen?"

"Shut up."

"Is that how you two usually carry on with Piper-"

She turns on him furiously, coffee sloshing over the top of the mug. "Don't you dare question my parenting."

He raises his both hands. "Relax, that's not what I meant." He passes her a clean dishtowel. "You got coffee on your ... thing."

The word _relax _makes her muscles twitch and she forces out a breath, dabbing hard at the stain on her robe. "Can you just - don't you have plans with Piper today?"

He frowns. "I'm taking her to school, and then to the beach. Why, do you want to-"

"Mommy, I can't find my other shoe!" Piper explodes into the kitchen, uncombed hair trailing behind her. Addison drops to her haunches, grateful for the distraction. "Which shoe, baby?"

She wrinkles her nose. "The red one."

"_Which_ red one?" Addison prods and she doesn't have to look up to see Mark's smirk. "Try under your bed, Pipes. Or by the couch in the TV room."

"Her mother's daughter," he comments lightly when Piper scampers out again.

Addison retrieves her cup of coffee and takes a grateful gulp. "At least when it comes to shoes."

"Not just shoes." Mark's voice is surprisingly soft. "Other things too."

She grips the mug, suddenly uncomfortable. "Mark..."

"Good morning."

Addison jumps slightly as Sam pads into the kitchen. Funny, really, how different the same two words can sound. "Looks busy in here," he observes.

"Breakfast," Addison offers weakly. She kisses Sam, mindful of Mark's eyes on them, of Sam's hands firm at the base of her hips.

At the loud clank of a bowl on the counter Addison turns around, still in Sam's arms. Mark has the cabinets thrown open, the makings of an omelet scattered around him. With his back to them, he cracks eggs, plucks a whisk from the the ceramic jar of kitchen implements. Sam's hands drift lower, Addison's back against his chest, and she pulls away just slightly. His breath is warm against her neck and his lips graze her ear when he speaks.

"How long are you staying with us this time...Mark?"

Mark doesn't turn around, the whisk rattling in the glass mixing bowl. "Don't you still live next door?"

"I still _own_ the _house_ next door."

"Sam!" Piper's back, bouncing on her tiptoes in front of him. "Daddy's making breakfast!"

"Yes, I see that." Sam frees a hand to pat the top of her head distractedly. Addison takes advantage of the position to wriggle out of his embrace.

"Did you find your shoe, sweetie?"

"I found this _other_ red shoe that I think is good." She pauses, an impossibly small red sneaker dangling from her fist. "But I can't find the other one to _that_ one."

"How about if you wear-"

"I want _these_ ones," she insists.

"Okay. Let's think - actually," she turns to Sam, remembering Piper's penchant for kicking off her shoes in transit, "do you remember when you drove us last week - I think it might be in your car. Let me just grab your keys and -"

"I'll do it." He holds a hand out for Piper. "Want to help?"

She beams at the attention and trots after him out of the kitchen.

No sooner has the sliding door closed behind them than Mark starts in, no preamble. He speaks quietly, fiercely, not quite looking at her.

"There was a time, okay - it wasn't long, it was less than a year, when both my parents lived in the house. They were - they weren't fighting, not trying to kill each other, no gold-digging stepmothers or ancient stepfathers, no one throwing dishes, and - well. There it was."

Addison just listens quietly, her fingers knotting into the dishtowel she's still holding.

"That's what Piper's going to have. That's it. That _time_ when her parents were together, when they could be in a room without - "

"Mark-"

"That's all you want for her?"

"Mark, please."

"You didn't give me a chance."

"I gave you so many chances."

"Addison-"

"Because there's an explanation for what you did? Something different you want to add? Say it, then."

"Nothing you're willing to hear."

"At least you recognize that." He opens his mouth to respond just as Sam and Piper head back in triumphantly, hand in hand.

"We found it!" Piper proffers a little red sneaker, grinning.

Addison struggles to smile back, Piper's twinkling blue eyes reminiscent enough of her father's to bring tears to her own. "What do you say to Sam, Pipes?" she chokes.

Piper turns a dazzling smile to the man whose arm is heavy at Addison's waist once more. "Thank you!"

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><p><em>Review are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated. <em>


	8. The Oasis

**_I'm glad people are still reading and I hope you'll keep doing so as the story unfolds. _**

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><p><strong>The Oasis<strong>

_Three Years Ago_

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><p>Awake, she's <em>this close <em>to walking. Asleep, she's a warm cuddly bundle of loose limbs and soft, deep breathing. He sinks into the cushions protecting the slatted chair, propping his legs and cradling his sleeping daughter against his chest. That's what she is. The shape of an idea, in miniature human form. Wispy dark-gold hair and not much of it - like the few baby pictures he's seen of himself. A familiar smile interrupted by a few new teeth.

_You can stay in her life. If you want._

The word "want" doesn't really apply, though. Not for him, and not for her. He watched his daughter grow, from a blip on a screen to the swelling of a belly to her long-awaited exit, apricot-faced and screaming, into their waiting arms. Whether to stay in her life wasn't a _want_ or a _choice_ or anything other than sheer physical imperative.

She toddled along the sand today, her little hands disappearing into his. He knows how it is, knows that before long her hands will slip out of his and she'll be walking on her own. _I do it! _ Sofia squeals now when he tries to help her. And that's just the beginning. Piper is different, his time with her different.

_Is it weird? _Derek asked him this once, lifelong friends who sometimes still communicate in the same ancient locker room cadence. _Kind of,_ Mark responded in turn.

Is it, though? It is, as Callie likes to say, the way of the modern family. He visits. Sometimes. When he can. Addison lives here, Sam - well, the less he thinks of that the better. Amelia's in and out, the fourth piece of the puzzle, still very present in her way even when she's not there. As she always has been.

He lives in Seattle, and pieces of him lives in Los Angeles.

The sun is warmer here, stronger, with the blue pallor that hangs over Seattle, the mist and humidity to which he's finally grown accustomed. He'd once told Addison he didn't think he could ever get tired of her splendid ocean view and that's true too. The waves crash with sometime majesty; when calm, the sparse white peaks remind him what it's capable of. He prefers it somewhere in between: motion with the barest hint of its power. He swam this morning, letting the salt and the sea soak into his skin. Seattle is the opposite of dry and yet it's this place that sometimes feels like his water source. When he's here, he drinks deeply.

"How's my favorite niece?" Amelia blows by, all wind-tangled long hair and cheek-splitting grin. She's wearing a leather jacket and her shoes make slapping noises on the deck. He winces.

"She's sleeping." Mark glances over his shoulder, letting a shushing sound escape his lips.

"Where's Addie?"

"Working."

An expression he can't identify crosses Amelia's familiar face, even in the low light. It's screaming at him.

"What?" he asks finally.

"Nothing." Amelia bares her teeth in a smile. "You just look very comfortable here, that's all."

"It's a comfortable place."

Amelia shrugs. "I wasn't complaining."

"Look, Amelia-"

Ignoring him, Amelia crosses the space between them and reaches for the baby; Mark holds her a bit closer.

Amelia's hand hovers just above the blanket. "Oh. Do I have to ask permission now?"

"Amelia..."

"Wow. Okay" She takes a step back. "Seriously?"

"It's just that she's sleeping, and if I move her she might wake up. That's all."

"Is that all it is?" Her question lingers in the air.

"False alarm," Addison says brightly, walking onto the patio with her blackberry in hand before Mark can answer Amelia. "Just Braxton-Hicks. Looks like I won't need to go in after all."

"Good." Mark runs the back of his finger down Piper's cheek. She makes a soft sound in her sleep, curling his insides. This time with her is too rare, the minutes too few. He has carte blanche to visit and he appreciates it, but -

But what? He prods himself, waits for the answer, but only sees Derek, head cocked, lips twisting in a half smirk. _Come on, you have to admit this is a little weird. I mean, are you a donor or what? _

Or what.

"How's she doing?" Addison crosses the deck swiftly.

"Sleeping like a log." Mark smiles fondly at Piper.

"Did she eat?"

"About an hour ago." She also spat much of it back at him, laughing through a face of peach-and-apple goo. He'd bathed her in the sink and she squealed with delight - she always loved the water. She'd fallen asleep in his arms with the soft sounds of the ocean lapping at the sand. A waterbaby. Sandpiper.

"It's getting a little chilly out here."

"She's tough, like her old man."

Addison rolls her eyes, fussing with the blanket wrapped around Piper. Mark looks at the anxious clench of her fingers and sees them wound into his, sees her waking up in the bed, pink hospital gown and pale face.

_It didn't work. It was my last chance and it didn't work._

She cried and he held her hand and thought _this is what it is to be hopeless._

He hears Derek again, in his head: _Isn't it weird? _Or had he said: _Is it weird? _ Funny how different a question can sound depending on whether you anticipate the answer.

Now it's Addison's voice he hears: _Should I be worried? _The answer he didn't say: _Always. _

Amelia's smaller hand joins hers then, resting lightly on the yellow blanket. For a moment the four of them stand there. A warm breeze blows off the ocean.

A question, predicated on the answer:

_Is there anything you're not telling me?_

_No. Of course not. _

"She's so beautiful," Amelia says softly, breaking the silence. Mark's jerked out of his own thoughts and nods automatically; of the many things they could argue about, sources of disagreement, the things they don't say, Piper's beauty is certainly not one of them.

"Are you surprised?" Addison smiles, slipping an arm under the sleeping bundle. Mark settles the baby in her arms and, when she's comfortably secure, drops a kiss on her forehead. Addison glances at Amelia.

"How are things at-"

"They're fine. Everything's fine."

"I called you." Addison looks down at Piper, adjusting her blanket. "Last night. I was wondering if you could-"

"Babysit?"

"No." Addison shakes her head. "Forget it."

Mark glances from one of them to the other. Amelia places a conciliatory hand on his shoulder; the weight of it makes his bones ache.

"I'm going to go put her down." Addison looks from Mark to Amelia. "You two okay?"

"I'm okay," Mark fixes his eyes resolutely on the baby.

_I want to know her. _

_Of course, Mark. Whatever you're comfortable with._

He gets it, understands that this is _her_ baby - it's just, when has anything been just one of theirs? Those boundaries, shifting and elusive, and a little girl in her mother's arms whose closed eyes are same shade of blue as his.

Then it's brown eyes he sees, doe eyes soft with hurt. _Donation, Mark. Like a gift, right? That means you give it and you don't get anything back. Isn't that what it means? _

"Good. Thanks for watching her." Addison leans forward, Piper asleep in her arms, and kisses his cheek. Her lips are cool and dry.

_Is it weird? _He watches Addison shift Piper in her arms; it's quiet out here and he can make out the deep whisper breaths of his daughter, the almost imperceptible movement of Amelia next to him, moving from foot to foot on the wide blanks of the deck. There are texts on his phone he hasn't answered. The red light is blinking, accusatory.

_Kind of._

Amelia stands next to Mark, arms folded, watching Addison walk away. "I thought you didn't like to move the baby when she was sleeping."

"Addison's her mother."

Amelia just raises one eyebrow, saying nothing.

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><p><em>Reviews are warmly welcomed and always appreciated. <em>


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